


Key Tactics for Improving Your Love Life

by Swordy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Smart (but a bit clueless) boys, brotherhood era, wingman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 20:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: On a work acquaintances-friends continuum, he and Gladio are just past the halfway mark. They don’t spend a lot of time together, but, by virtue of their roles in relation to Noct, they know each other well enough to be content in each other's company. Well enough to ask a fairly personal favour of each other, it seems.Written for the Gladnis Week Day 5 prompt: “But the wingman isn’t supposed to fall for the pilot.”





	Key Tactics for Improving Your Love Life

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure my lazy arse would have got anything finished in time for Gladnis Week, but for the always amazing Hanatsuki who suggested we tackle the Wingman prompt together, and how could I say no?
> 
> So here it is. As always, kudos and comments are gratefully received (even if they consist of 'stop fucking around and write the next chapter of Poison/Wine’). It goes without saying that you also need to check out Hana's gorgeous art. Thank you for being a wonderful partner once again, hon! <3
> 
> Link to the art: http://hanatsuki89.tumblr.com/post/177338492233/gladnis-week-day-5-the-one-where-one-of-them

There’s a woman, Gladio says, apropos of nothing.

He says it all in a rush, like he’s been working up to this conversation since they first sat down, then looks away quickly, presumably expecting a tut or an eye roll or something, but Ignis does neither because the truth is he was moments away from embarking on a similar conversation himself, the only difference being the substitution of the word 'man' for 'woman'.

To clarify, Ignis has never completely discounted the possibility of a relationship with someone of the opposite sex, but he’d be lying if he said they were his preference. When he pictures romance, the hand entwined in his is always large and attached to a reasonably hairy arm and when he dreams of sex, the genitalia always mirrors his own.

On a work acquaintances-friends continuum, he and Gladio are just past the halfway mark. They don’t spend a lot of time together, but, by virtue of their roles in relation to Noct, they know each other well enough to be content in each other's company. Well enough to ask a fairly personal favour of each other, it seems.

It’s a Thursday morning and their schedules are in rare but fortuitous alignment, enabling them to grab a coffee together at a place a mere stone's throw from the citadel. It started raining in the early hours of the morning and shows no intention of stopping as it patters against the window inches from their faces. There are droplets resting in Gladio’s hair after he declined the shelter of Ignis’s umbrella, which now sits, dripping, in a holder beside the door. Ignis finds the droplets a source of fascination, resting atop Gladio's carefully gelled spikes like shimmering accessories. He studies them for a moment longer, before turning his attention back to the conversation in hand.

“So what do you need from me?” he asks.

Having finally braved eye contact, Gladio ducks his head like this is the last stop before full-on blushing. “She likes to dance. Salsa. But I dunno how. I wondered if you know anywhere I can learn.”

“I can teach you.”

“You?”

Ignis rolls his eyes. “I know, I know; woe betide anyone who thinks I might know how to have fun.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” Gladio says, raising his hands in placation. “If you can teach me then that'd be awesome.”

“Very well. Check my schedule and let me know some times that work for you. If you’d prefer to do it somewhere private you can come to my apartment; it’s not big, but there’s enough room for you to master some basic steps and a few moves that should hopefully impress your intended.”

“Thanks, Iggy. Dunno how I can repay you.”

“Well...” Ignis says, thinking again of his own situation, of the request that had sat on his own lips until Gladio had beaten him to it, “actually there _is_ something you could help me with...”

OoOoO

Ignis is well-read, but no one has detailed knowledge of the Lucian Great Wars like Gladio. The man he met earlier in the week is a historian, several years older than himself. They’d met in front of an exhibit at the Lucian War Museum and got chatting, and there had been a definite chemistry between them. The man—Marcus—had smiled and said he hoped to see Ignis here again sometime, to continue their discussion. Ignis had been in agreement, but first wished to brush up on his facts.

“So, the most significant of the wars happened whilst Inlustris was king?” he asks, looking up from the weighty tome in his lap to where Gladio is standing, running his fingers along the spines of the books in the Amicitia family library.

“Yup, which is why he became known as ‘The Warrior’. The legend is he was a pacifist until the murder of his queen. His rule holds the records for both the longest campaign and the bloodiest in Lucian history.”

It’s all very interesting. But what truly makes the afternoon memorable is watching Gladio come alive as he tells tales of past kings and the battles they waged to keep Insomnia free from the Empire's interference. Ignis jots down notes, listening intently. When he glances at his watch, he realises they’ve gone far beyond the hour he promised to keep Gladio.

“Oh,” he exclaims, “aren’t you supposed to be meeting Iris soon?”

Gladio checks his own watch and curses under his breath.

“I’m so sorry, Gladio,” Ignis says, shutting his notebook quickly. “I don’t know where the time went.”

“Uh yeah... You uh, you know, if you wanna do this again...?”

Ignis pauses, half in and out of the door, his hastily gathering belongings held awkwardly in his arms. “That would be wonderful. I’d like that very much, but I don’t wish to inconvenience you.”

“Not at all,” Gladio says quickly, before adding, “I- I mean, the more you know, the better chance you’ve got of scoring a hot date, right?”

“Absolutely.” Ignis breaks the eye contact, can feel himself flushing slightly. “Goodbye, Gladio and thanks again.”

OoOoO

The following week, Ignis returns the favour by hosting a dance lesson for Gladio at his apartment. Prior to Gladio's arrival, he removes his tie and rolls up his shirt sleeves before shifting the furniture out of the way in his living room, thus creating just enough space for them to dance without falling over his coffee table or crashing into his bookcase.

He surveys the room, then goes to his phone to cue up an appropriate playlist. His eyes stray to the kitchen worktop, where a bottle of wine stands next to his coffee maker. Too much? He picks up the bottle, considering his options. Salsa can feel like quite an... _intimate_ dance so a little alcohol might help lubricate things and resolve any possible awkwardness. But might Gladio think he has some kind of ulterior motive by suggesting that they drink together before they dance? He puts the bottle back down.

No alcohol.

The buzzer sounds barely five minutes later. He presses the intercom and tells Gladio to come up, then waits at the door to his apartment, listening for the clump of boots on the stairs. But Gladio is surprisingly light-footed and Ignis is startled to find that the other man is almost at his door before he hears him coming.

Still, it possibly bodes well for his dancing career.

“Hey,” Gladio says, grinning as Ignis opens the door to him. He’s got a duffle thrown over his shoulder and is dressed in gym clothes and sneakers. That accounts for the stealthy approach, then.

“Come in,” Ignis says, trying not to stare at how the thin grey t-shirt clings to the muscles of Gladio's chest.

“Thanks.”

He follows Gladio down the corridor and into the main living space of his small but reasonably proportioned apartment. Gladio has been to his place once or twice before but only ever to drop something off or to collect Noct.

“Hey, we have a dancefloor!” Gladio comments, glancing back over his shoulder, still grinning.

“Indeed.” He pushes at his glasses. Why is he so _tense_? It’s only Gladio. “Do you want to get started?”

“Oh, sure,” Gladio replies, depositing his duffel on the kitchen counter, “no time like the present.” He claps his hands together, then rolls his shoulders. “Okay, Iggy. I’m all yours.”

“Right,” Ignis says, before giving himself a mental shake. “Right.”

Watched by Gladio he moves into the centre of the space and gestures for Gladio to come and stand beside him.

“Let's go through some basic steps first shall we? We start in the neutral position...”

And they’re off.

OoOoO

Ignis quickly discovers two things: one, Gladio is a quick learner, and two, despite his size and stature he is capable of moving with the easy fluidity needed to transform salsa from a series of clunky steps - _one, two, three, tap, one, two, three, tap_ \- to a sensual, graceful art form. Once Gladio has mastered the basic steps, Ignis shows him a series of movements that round out the dance - spins, turns and lastly, a dip. He shows Gladio how, as lead, he will use hand signals to indicate to his partner what move they will be doing next. They dance for almost two hours before Ignis suggests a break. They’re both sweating lightly and the wine is ignored in favour of ice water for himself and a soda for Gladio.

“So how come you can dance?” Gladio asks from where he’s sitting on the floor.

Unable to reply whilst he's taking a drink, Ignis gives a slight shrug. Once he’s swallowed he furnishes Gladio with an answer, wishing it was more exciting than it actually is.

“I enjoy it,” he says simply. “I’ve always made it my goal to try things I consider slightly out of my comfort zone so I decided to give salsa dancing a go. I went for some lessons and... well, I guess it wasn’t quite as far out of my comfort zone as I first thought.”

“Clearly not,” Gladio agrees, nodding. “You're an amazing dancer. So what else have you tried in your quest for learning new skills?”

Ignis colours and ducks his head slightly. “Well, I’m also fairly proficient on roller blades.”

“No shit?”

“And I can make twenty-five different cocktails from memory.”

“Really?” Gladio laughs to himself and shakes his head. “To think there are so many things I don’t know about you, Iggy. So tell me about this guy you met.”

He explains about his visit to the War Museum, an innocent attempt to while away a few hours on a rainy Wednesday afternoon, when a meeting he was due to attend was cancelled at the last moment and Regis had insisted that he take some free time to enjoy himself. He’d been browsing a display of Lucian foot soldier armour through the centuries when he’d realised he was being watched. He’d looked up and made eye contact with the man who then sheepishly apologised for staring before they’d struck up a conversation about the exhibit.

“So you prefer older guys?” Gladio asks.

“Not necessarily.” He offers Gladio a self-conscious smile. “I’m not entirely sure I’ve figured out _what_ my type is yet.”

Gladio huffs a noise of amusement. “Makes two of us.”

“So this lady; where did you meet her?”

Gladio chugs the last of his soda, emptying the can. “She works at that coffee shop near the entrance to the citadel gardens. I’ve seen her a few times, but we got to talking the other week. She mentioned about this salsa club she goes to-” Gladio stops abruptly, looking embarrassed, “I told her I loved to dance, too. Dunno why I said that.”

Ignis waves a hand breezily. “You'll be fine. You don’t have to be an expert at something to enjoy it. Providing you didn’t claim to be Insomnia's number one salsa champion, you’ve already got enough to bluff your way through. A little more practice and she'll never think for a minute that you’d not danced before today.”

“Speaking of which,” Gladio says, crushing the empty can. “Should we get back to it?”

Ignis nods, surprised by how much he’s enjoying himself. “Absolutely.”

OoOoO

Via a little detective work, Ignis discovers that Marcus has a particular interest in Crepera Lucis Caelum, the first queen of Lucis known by the epithet of 'The Rogue'. When he shares this information with Gladio, the other man declares the historian a man of excellent taste and insists that Ignis come over again so that he can be similarly knowledgeable for the date - coffee at a little artisan place near the museum - that they’ve arranged for next week.

When they’re done, Ignis's head bursting with facts and stories that are sure to impress, Gladio wonders if he could ask another favour. _Of course_ , Ignis says.

_Come to the salsa club with me this Friday, please?_

_Moral support?_

_Yeah, somethin' like that. Or a wingman._

So it’s now Friday and they’re here, watching the club pulsate with a heartbeat of its very own. It was reasonably busy when they first arrived, but now every table is filled, every corner spoken for by couples or groups of friends talking and laughing as others display their best moves on the sizeable parquet dancefloor. 

“You look nice,” Ignis comments in a break between songs. “I’m sure your date will be bowled over.”

It’s true. Gladio looks amazing, dressed all in black, his hair pulled back in a bun that emphasises his sharp features and strong jawline. He also smells as good as he looks, but Ignis thinks it would be slightly inappropriate to comment on that.

Gladio grins, although it’s clear he’s a little nervous as he fingers his beer, his eyes darting around before returning to settle on his companion as they stand at the bar. “You're lookin' pretty hot yourself, Iggy. I like your hair like that. You’re sure you ain’t looking to pull while we're here?”

Ignis runs a hand down his shirt front, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. It’s one of his favourites; so deep purple in colour it’s almost black. He’s rolled up the sleeves and his small skull pendant rests in the 'v' of his open collar. He's forgone his usual gelled hairstyle tonight - previous experience has taught him that it doesn’t work well with the heat in here once he starts dancing -so it sweeps across his forehead, some of the longer strands resting on the frames of his glasses.

“Thank you, Gladio,” he replies, deliberately avoiding the question. “It never hurts to look one's best.”

Gladio's response is a snort of amusement as he returns to surveying the club's patrons, but he doesn’t say anything else. Ignis is the one to speak next, his voice raised over the music.

“No sign of her yet?”

“Nope.”

Ignis gestures at the dancefloor. “Why don’t you go and invite someone to dance? Get in a little practice? At a club like this you can find a partner without it meaning that you’re trying to hit on them.”

“I dunno,” Gladio says, smoothing a hand across his hair as he watches the current occupants of the dancefloor. “I don’t think I’m good enough.”

“Nonsense. You can more than hold your own out there.” Ignis surveys the people waiting on the periphery. “In fact, I think I might head down there myself. Do you want to come with me?”

Gladio hesitates, considering the offer for a moment. He really should... but on second thoughts, maybe another beer or two would help bolster his confidence. “Nah, you go. I’m gonna stay here a while longer.”

“Very well.”

Ignis takes his leave and Gladio watches as he threads his way down to the dancefloor, nodding a greeting here and there as he goes. On the edge of the dancefloor, he approaches a woman in a flowing red dress who smiles and nods as he says something in her ear. Together, they head onto the floor, finding a suitable space amongst the people already there. They quickly fall into the basic steps that Gladio recognises and he starts to think that maybe he can do this after all. Then the song changes, and Ignis and his partner really start to move.

Gladio's transfixed.

Ignis and the woman flow like a single entity until breaking apart to complete moves, some of which Ignis showed him and some of which he definitely didn’t. It’s strange to see Ignis come alive here, when ordinarily he’s so measured and precise. And sensible. And—

“You're here!”

Realising he’s being spoken to, Gladio swings around to see another familiar face. Charley, the barista is smiling up at him, clearly pleased that he’s decided to come. She looks really nice, her long chestnut hair tumbling around the shoulders of her black, lace-sleeved dress.

“Uh, yeah. It’s good to see you.”

Her gaze flicks over him appreciatively. “So would you like to go dance?”

Despite how he’s feeling about showcasing his new skills he knows 'no' is the wrong answer. He drains the last of his beer, finds his best charming smile and says, “sure, why not?”

During the conversation he realises he’s lost track of Ignis. The woman in the red dress is now back with her friends so Gladio finds himself scanning the club as he follows Charley to the dancefloor. Then he spots him.

Ignis is now dancing with a new partner, a tall, dark-haired man. Even to Gladio's untrained eye they appear similarly matched skill-wise as the stranger puts Ignis through his paces, his satisfied smile in stark contrast to Ignis's solemn concentration.

Once again Gladio finds himself captivated by how seamlessly Ignis has switched from lead to follower in the dance. There’s something appealing, and something that gives him a slight twinge of jealousy about the confidence Ignis displays as he dances with another man. Gladio is attracted to men and women, but he knows which sex he feels more confident being seen in public with. It’s stupid. Frankly, if he was with someone as incredible as Ignis, he’d want _everyone_ to know they were toge—

“Gladio!” Charley laughs, snapping him from his thoughts abruptly. “Are you coming or what?”

And so he dances. Charley is a gracious partner, and says nothing when he misses a step or gives a hand signal that causes her to turn in the wrong direction. And it’s fun - it _is_ \- and Charley looks beautiful as she moves, but he can’t help trying to see what Ignis is doing and, more specifically, _who_ he’s dancing with and he knows that most of the mistakes he makes are directly attributable to the fact that his brain is trying to tell him something that he can’t quite make sense of.

Then the guy spins Ignis, and for a split second, Gladio finds himself eye to eye with his friend across the dancefloor. It's only a fleeting moment, the infinitesimal space between one breath and another, and yet everything changes as their eyes lock and Ignis smiles and then he’s gone again, whirled around to complete the movement. And suddenly Gladio finds himself snapped back to a conversation he'd with his dad a few months back. They’d been talking about his mom and he’d asked his dad to try and put words to the feeling when Clarus had realised he was in love, so that he might know it himself. Instead, his dad had simply smiled and said _you’ll know_.

At the time he’d been annoyed and frustrated by his dad's apparently deliberate vagueness. Now... now he thinks he gets it. Maybe there aren’t words that can describe it adequately, but those two words - _you’ll know_ \- are answer enough when he thinks about them in the context of Ignis's eyes and his smile.

“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” Charley says, and Gladio realises she’s nodding in the direction of Ignis and his partner.

“Yeah,” Gladio says softly, his reply almost certainly lost beneath the music. “Yeah, he is.”

OoOoO

“So did you enjoy yourself?” Ignis asks him later on, as they’re in a taxi heading home.

“Uh huh.” Gladio keeps his face toward the window, watching the streetlights flicking by. He loves the city, especially when it comes alive after dark, but tonight something is missing.

“Charley seems nice.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you made plans to see her again?”

“Uh,” he starts, then figures he may as well be honest. “No, no plans.”

Beside him Ignis breathes, but he doesn’t ask any more questions, so they lapse back into a tired but companionable silence for the remainder of the ride home.

OoOoO

The following week is busy, and the only time Gladio and Ignis actually get eyes on each other is across the gymnasium at the citadel when Ignis is finishing a Crownsguard training session, and Gladio is about to begin his. Ignis smiles and waves and it reminds Gladio that Ignis has his date twenty-four hours from now. He ignores the feeling that takes up residency in the pit of his stomach, instantly obliterating the happiness he’d felt at seeing Ignis at all.

He throws himself into training, and the punchbag gets a few extra hits, which absolutely doesn’t mean anything at all.

Once he’s showered and back in the locker room he fires off a quick text. _Good luck with your date tomorrow. He’s a lucky guy._ He hits send and lets out long breath. A couple of minutes later his phone vibrates in his hand.

_Thanks :)_

“You’re welcome, Iggy,” he says softly before dropping his phone in his bag and heading out.

OoOoO

Friday is long and ultimately too boring to provide an adequate distraction from his thoughts. He turns down an invitation to go out drinking with the glaives, certain that a hangover will only compound his misery. Once he’s off duty, he decides to treat himself to a coffee, specifically avoiding the shop near the citadel gardens. Charley's a nice person, but he doesn’t want to lead her on, even if he’s not got a cat in hell's chance of getting what _he_ actually wants.

Or rather _who_ he wants.

He's settled into a comfortable nook, well into his second coffee, when the bell above the door chimes. He’s been here a while now - long enough to stop looking up reflexively whenever it does that - but for some reason on this occasion, he glances up from his book to see who has just come in.

“Iggy,” he says, surprised. “How was your date?”

He gestures to the empty chair across from him. Ignis smiles as he slips into the seat. “I didn’t go.”

“You didn’t— How come?”

Ignis gives a sigh which would seem theatrical from anyone else. “As charming as Marcus is, I realised I wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with him so it seemed unfair to give him the wrong idea. I cancelled our date earlier on today.”

“Well I’m sorry to hear that,” Gladio replies.

Ignis shrugs, clearly not too broken up by the decision. “So how are you, Gladio? I know we've haven’t seen each other much this week, but I hadn’t heard from you until you text me yesterday and Noct mentioned that you’ve seemed a little distracted. Is everything okay or is there anything I can help you with?”

Caught off guard by the question, Gladio meets Ignis's inquisitive gaze. He wants to deflect or lie, or flat out tell Ignis he’s got it wrong, but something stops him. Heart surging to a full-on gallop, he puts down his book and sits forward in his chair.

“Yeah, I guess I have been a little distracted,” he admits.

“Oh?” Ignis says. “Please don’t feel obliged to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, it’s fine; it’s just... I think I might have finally figured out what my type is,” Gladio says, then takes a breath as he slides his hand across the table, coming to rest atop Ignis's own.

Ignis studies their hands for a moment. He looks stunned, but quickly his features smooth into something warm, amusement dancing on the periphery. He turns his own hand over so that they can be joined properly.

“Tell me about this type of yours,” he says.

Gladio exhales, almost on a laugh, relieved that he’s not been rebuffed. “Well, I realised I wanted someone who was intelligent and quick-witted and enjoyed studying history, but who could also dance and have fun.”

Ignis nods, smiling. “Anything else?”

“Oh, I dunno, being able to rollerblade would be a plus.” They both laugh. Gladio rubs his thumb across Ignis’s wrist, certain he can feel Ignis's pulse going a little faster, too. “Why? Do you know someone who might fit the bill?”

“I might.”

They stay that way for several moments, smiling and gazing at each other before they both look away self-consciously.

“So was that the only reason you cancelled your date?” Gladio asks as they reluctantly pull their hands apart and settle back into their respective seats.

Ignis readjusts his glasses, still smiling. “I believe I might have come to a similar conclusion about what my 'type' is. Obviously, I wasn’t sure if the feelings were reciprocated, but I thought it best to ensure I was a free agent, just in case.”

Gladio makes an amused sound. “Oh, they’re reciprocated, believe me.”

Ignis flushes, but it’s clear he’s pleased with this news. “So what next?”

“I dunno... a proper date?”

“Agreed—” Ignis's eyebrows twitch into a frown at Gladio's sudden bark of laughter. “What?”

“You’re good at so many things, Iggy,” Gladio says after he’s managed to get his amusement under control, “but I just thought of something you’re terrible at.”

“What’s that?” Ignis replies, pretending to be affronted by the mere _suggestion_ of insufficiency.

“Being a wingman,” Gladio laughs. “I mean, you know the wingman's not supposed to fall for the pilot, right?”

To this, Ignis raises an eyebrow to give the other man a withering look. “That works both ways, Gladiolus.”

Gladio nods, prepared to concede defeat on this occasion.

“Yeah, Iggy, I guess it does. But you know what? I think I like this ending better, don’t you?”

 

  
**End**

 

 

 

 

 


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